Gone
by Stabson
Summary: It's like learning to live without part of your soul.


"Let's see... Italian?"

"Nope."

"Mexican?"

"Nope."

"Chinese?"

"Chinese? C'mon, Liv." You feign annoyance, but you know she sees the smile that's forming on your face. Truth be told, your heart swells a bit at the impatient excitement of your partner as she sits next to you. She's been trying to guess the place you're taking her for almost as long as you've been driving, but there's a place for every type of food imaginable in Manhattan. Even if she did guess, you still wouldn't tell her.

Olivia sighs, leaning back in her seat. She knows you too well. "I'm a detective. I'll figure it out."

You pull up to a red light and smirk as you glance over at her. She's absolutely stunning in her black sleeveless dress. Her knee is crossed lightly, hand resting in her lap along with her little wristlet. You hope she doesn't think she's paying for anything because if she does, she's sorely mistaken. When she agreed to go out with you, treating her like the incredible woman she is became your mission. You don't care what it costs. She deserves it.

There's a hint of a smile on her face as you continue to study her. She's gone with very little makeup and you're sure she remembers the time you complimented her natural hairstyle because her locks flow freely down to her shoulders. You just want to reach over and run your fingers through it. How again did you manage to get her to say yes to you?

When she turns towards you, you're pretty sure your heart stops. That hint of a smile is now a full out grin and there's a sparkle in her eye that you haven't seen in a long time, if ever. It's not the first time you've noticed how stunning she is, but it's the first time you've allowed yourself to really look. And Jesus, you never want to stop looking.

"El."

"Huh?"

"The light's green."

"Oh." Your cheeks warm. The intersection ahead is clear as you pull through. You're almost to the other side when, without warning, a powerful shockwave reverberates through your body and you hear metal slamming against metal and glass shattering. Your head slams against the side of the door right before everything goes black.

/

Your head feels like it's splitting open. As you slowly open your eyes, the world blurs around you.

 _What the hell happened?_

After a few hard blinks, everything comes back into focus.

"Liv." It hurts to move your head. It feels like there's a jackhammer in your skull.

But what meets your gaze dwarfs that pain. Olivia's head is thrown back against the headrest. Blood streams down the side of her mouth. The entire side of the car on her side is a crushed piece of mangled metal and plastic around her, but your eyes are locked onto her face as you say her name again. Why is the world spinning so much?

She still doesn't answer you. You unbuckle your seatbelt, wincing as fire slices through your chest, fling the center console back and scoot closer. Your breath comes out in short gasps as you will your rib cage to stop burning.

Her pulse is weak and thready. You press your fingers further into her neck, convinced that when you do, you'll get an accurate pulse because what you feel now can't be right. She's gonna be okay, of course, she's gonna be okay. This is Olivia.

"Olivia, y'gotta wake up." This time, she stirs and groans and whispers your name. And you're on the radio that you keep in your car in half a second, yelling at whoever's listening that your partner needs a bus. You toss the radio onto the floor of the car and before you can stop yourself, your hand is running through the hair on the back of her head.

"El." Her hand grips the lapel of your jacket weakly, pulling you forward.

"'S okay, Liv," you tell her. "You're gonna be okay, bus is comin'." The coppery taste of blood fills the back of your throat, forcing your words to stick there.

"You gonna tell me where we were going now?" The pain in her voice breaks you.

"Uh-uh," you rasp. "I'm still takin' you there. You're gonna get patched up and 'm gonna take you there."

"Looks like I got that Brazilian wax for nothing," Olivia rasps.

"You think you were getting lucky tonight, Benson?"

"A girl can dream." A cough rises in her throat. Blood comes up with it, out of her reddened lips and directly onto the lapel of your jacket. "Sorry," she whispers. "Ruined your jacket... you'll never be able to get that out..."

"Forget the damn jacket," you say, heat rising in your chest at the thought that she's slowly fading in your arms and all she's talking about is Brazilian waxes and your jacket. She's coughing up blood, and you can think of only one thing that can be the cause. Her lungs... if you weren't scared shitless before, you are now. "Just stay with me, Olivia. Stay with me."

"El," she whispers, her voice growing weaker and softer. You can't break down now. You can't. "C-can you do something?"

"Of course." You'll do anything for her.

"Kiss me, at least once?"

"Don't say that," you whisper, blinking away your tears. Your throat hurts and you want to break down and sob but you can't. Not right now, not when she needs you. "I'm gonna kiss you a hell of a lot more than just once."

Her hand is pulling you forward again, closer and closer and you can't stop her. Her lips are warm and tinged with blood, but as they press against yours, the most amazing sense of warmth and love fills your chest. You've never believed in soulmates, perfect first kisses, or one true loves, but in this moment, all of that changes because you have never experienced a kiss like this with anyone. The only thing that forces you to pull away is the coppery wetness that is seeping through your lips.

"Sorry," she mumbles, eyes half-lidded, skin growing paler by the second. She tries to reach up to wipe the blood away, but you catch her hand.

"Don't. Just rest."

She doesn't listen to you. She's still the most stubborn woman you know. "I... I love you, Elliot."

And you can't see through your tears anymore. They're rolling down your cheeks and you can't stop them, and you can't draw your hands away from her body to try. You pull her closer, cradling her slack body against yours. Her face falls weakly into the crook of your neck, her head against your shoulder. You can feel her soft breath against your skin as she takes slow, shallow breaths.

"I love you, too, Olivia." And it's like a crushing weight has finally been lifted off of your chest. You lift your head to look at her; she's smiling and her mouth is dark red, you've never seen such a look of contentment on her fact. You say it again. "I love you, too."

"I know, El." Her head falls back against your neck. She's still breathing slowly against you... in and out... in and out... in. You hold your breath. And out. In. You hold your breath again. Breathe. Just keep breathing.

But she doesn't.

"Olivia. You've gotta breathe." She doesn't move. Doesn't even flinch. You pull away, only slightly. "Hey. Wake up." _No. No. No._ _She can't be doing this, this can't be happening, it just can't._ "Liv… 'Livia. Come on... Come on, you've gotta wake up. 'Livia, I can't do this without you... Liv." Your lips descend on hers once more like she's Sleeping Beauty and a simple kiss will wake her, but she's cold and still and the copper taste of her blood nearly makes you vomit. It feel like there is broken glass in your throat as you try to speak once more. "Please wake up. Wake up for me, baby."

She doesn't move. Her red-tinged lips are parted, eyes surrounded by dark, blue-purple bruises. Your hand reaches to check her pulse again but you can't do it, you can't check, so your hand wraps around the back of her neck gently. Your hand slides through her beautiful auburn hair... her head falls limply to the side. _Of course she's still with you. She has to be with you._

The sirens reach you and paramedics descend on the car. You shove at the hands that try to prod at you, to help you out of the car and into the back of an ambulance. _I'm fine,_ you shout at them, _help my partner._

But after only moments of taking care of her, they're back to you and you don't understand why. You're going to be fine, you've just got a headache and your chest hurts, Olivia is the one that's coughing up blood and fighting for her life. Why do they keep trying to get you into the back of the ambulance?

"My partner," you plead, but no one seems to be listening. "You've gotta help my partner."

And one of the men standing crowded around you places a hand on your shoulder and whispers the knowledge that you already had deep in the back of your mind. The world spins around you. Your head pounds and you can't think straight. One of the paramedics has his hand on your shoulder and he's going on and on about something you can't understand. You try to keep your eyes open, try to stay standing, but it's a battle you've already lost. Everything goes black as you fall.

/

Everything hurts.

As your eyes slide open, the world spins, your stomach does flips and the front of your head pounds. Your mouth feels like sandpaper with the distinct, coppery taste of blood. Hospital… you're in the hospital. _Olivia…_

"Welcome back."

Cragen sits next to you, arms crossed over his chest, tight-lipped frown spread across his face. You just saw him earlier this afternoon, but the captain looks like he's aged twenty years since then.

"Cap'n... Olivia…" You choke on the lump in your throat. _Olivia. You need Olivia._

"Elliot…" The captain's face falls further. "Do you remember what happened?"

You remember every second. You just wish that the captain would tell you that your memory is wrong.

"Olivia," you whisper. Your vision blurs and it takes a good minute to realize that the cause of it is the tears that fill your eyes. "Cap'n, I need to see her. I need to see Liv."

"Son…"

Suddenly it hurts to use your voice. "Don... you gotta let me see her. I gotta…"

The look on the old captain's face stops you in your tracks. He's shaking his head as tears pool in his eyes. "I-I don't know how to tell you this…"

"Don't," you rasp. Your chest hurts. Your eyes sting. You can barely take a breath, you're heaving like there's not enough oxygen in this room. You know exactly what he's going to say and you can't bear to hear it again. Not again. "Just don't."

"She died, Elliot."

"Sh-she... she was still alive," you croak, "B-before the bus... she was alive, she…" She kissed you. She told you that she loves you. There's no way she can be gone now, not after you told her you love her, too, not after you finally felt her lips against yours.

"The paramedics said that she was DOA," the captain whispers. "There's nothing you or anyone could have-"

"Stop," you rasp. It's too hot in this fucking room. You're too hot and your skin crawls and you vaguely hear the machine next to you beeping wildly. You've got to get out of this bed.

Your hand claws at the I.V. in your arm. You sit up, try to grip the medical tape with your almost nonexistent fingernails, but almost immediately, Cragen's hands are wrapping around your wrists, pulling them apart. You try to pull away as your heart hammers, but the captain's grip is like iron and he's not letting go. So you do the only thing you can- you yell.

"Get off!" You're nearly hyperventilating as you struggle against the hands that hold you back.

"Elliot, _relax_."

 _She's gone. She's gone. She's gone._

"Fuck you, get your hands off me!" You try to pull away from him, but your body isn't cooperating and his grip on you is too tight. Your vision is blurring, you almost can't see through your tears. She's gone... How can she be gone? How could she leave you?

"Elliot. Stop." Cragen whispers. "She's gone. Olivia is gone. I'm sorry."

The fight drains from your body. You're tired... exhausted. The tears burn tracts down your cheeks as they fall. Finally, the grip disappears from your wrists. You gasp for breath, trying to get air into your lungs and prevent the sobs that rise but you can't do both at the same time. Your throat and chest hurt. Your head feels like it's splitting open. How could this happen?

"Elliot…"

"Leave me alone." It hurts to talk. It hurts to breathe. Nothing has ever hurt more.

/

The kids come to see you.

Maureen kisses you on the forehead, just like you used to do to her when she was young. Kathleen kisses you on the cheek, squeezing your shoulder. Lizzie tries to give you a hug, but fire courses through your chest from your busted ribs. You hug her back anyway and try your best to keep your chest from shaking with the sobs that catch in your throat. You've never let your kids see you cry.

They each tell you they love you. You try to smile. You try to tell them you're glad they're here. But your chest is constricted so tightly that it's painful.

Dickie produces a deck of cards from his jacket pocket. He uses the table next to your bed to deal out a hand for poker- the game you always play when it's your weekend to have them. The game that Lizzie always wants to strangle her brother's neck over.

You try to play a few rounds with them. But your brain won't let you focus. Her words are locked in your mind… _Kiss me. At least once._

After four games, Dickie puts away the cards. Lizzie tries to tell you about the upcoming play that she's been cast in. Maureen makes a comment about the guy she's been dating. You ask them how their mother is, but the response goes in one ear and out the other.

Eventually, they have to leave. You get a kiss on the cheek from each of them and promises of another visit. Your hands itch to reach out to them and you want to call them back- you can't lay here in this room all night. Empty. Alone. With the words of your partner haunting you.

As the door slowly closes behind them, you roll onto your side, close your eyes, and nothing can prevent the choking sobs that wrack your body.

/

You're released from the hospital after two nights. Your first day home, Cragen comes by with Olivia's will- which requests that the captain be the one to take care of all the arrangements. She leaves a note in it just for you, one that makes you cry almost as hard as you did that day in the hospital.

 _I love you, El. I'm pretty sure you're the only man that I've ever truly loved. Thank you for being the best friend and partner I could have ever asked for..._

 _..I'm asking Don to take care of all the funeral arrangements because I could never take care of yours if our positions were reversed. Just worry about taking care of yourself...\_

 _P.S. However it happened, you better not blame yourself. I know that it wasn't your fault._

/

You almost resent the service that she's given. Even after Cragen read that she didn't want anything extravagant, he goes all out with a full police service. Everyone shows up in their blues. The procession lines the streets, filled with flashing blue lights and police cars. A picture of her in her uniform stands next to the chestnut-colored casket, which is draped with an American flag.

She gets a hero's burial.

Too bad she didn't get a hero's death- she died because you just had to ask her on a date. You had to be greedy, had to want more, had to release those feelings in your chest for her.

Cragen, Munch and Fin stand beside you the whole time. You see the tears wet their faces, you feel their hands on your shoulders.

At the end of the ceremony, you take off your hat and approach the casket. It's cold when you set your palm onto it.

"I'm so sorry, Liv," you whisper. Like a dam bursting, the tears come. You're on your knees, forehead pressed against the perfectly smooth wooden box, tears falling and chest shaking mercilessly. "I'm sorry I couldn't… couldn't save you. I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

Hands pull you back to your feet. Cragen and Munch both move their arms around your shoulders, holding you in their huddle together, but you can't stand the tears that you see in their faces. You yank your body free of them- you can't see their sorrow. Can't see their hurt. You've got more than enough of that weight crushing you.

Instead, you press your palms against the casket once more and imagine her pale face as her head rests against the white satin inside the box.

/

A week after the service, the claim you put into your insurance company comes through. You get money to buy a new car, but you haven't been able to get behind the wheel since that day, so the money sits in your bank account, untouched.

You go to the yard they tossed the totaled car in. It's a mess. The windshield is shattered, the entire passenger side is warped metal, the seat is stained with blood.

In the trunk, you clear out the emergency kit and the small toolbox you kept there. You grab the tire iron as well, and with the cold metal gripped tight in your fist, you take a step back and survey the damage again.

This is exactly where you lost Olivia. She punctured her lung right in this seat- she bled out internally in the same fucking car you used to pick her up for a date, the same one you shared your first kiss and admitted your love.

Before you register your own movement, the tire iron is connecting with the back window. It shatters with a satisfying crack. And you're hitting the car again, the passenger side back door. Then the front door, the hood, the already-shattered windshield. Blood roars in your ears, the tears pool in your eyes, you feel glass embed in the skin on your arms but you don't give a shit.

 _"Why didn't you take me instead?!"_ You throw the tire iron as hard as you can. It smashes through the windshield. "Is this a fucking punishment? Huh? Well _fuck you!"_

You're fucking sick of crying. Sick of thinking. Sick of breathing.

You collapse against the hood of the car. "You had to go and leave me, Benson?" you croak, chin tilting back. The sky is deep blue and the clouds are puffy white like the heavens are happy for your misery. "I want to hate you. I tried- I really did, but I can't. I fucking can't, I can't go one second without missing you. I miss you like I'd miss a vital fuckin' organ... I-I need you and you're not here…" The sob that escapes comes out before you even know it's there. "I want to end it. If Cragen didn't have my gun, I... I probably would have already."

She'd slap you for thinking that. She'd yell at you about your kids, how could you think of leaving them without a father? Truth is, you're so hollow on the inside that you're no good for anyone, especially your kids.

"Can't keep living like this... Can't live without you, Olivia."

You wipe your puffy, wet eyes. Take a look at the shit from the trunk that you dropped, and immediately decide that it's not worth keeping around. The only thing it does is remind you of what you lost.

/

How many shots have you had? You're stumbling through the doorway of the bar, the world spinning around you. You gotta get home… you have no idea what time it is, but the urge to either pass out or throw up is growing quickly.

Your hand grips the railing of the subway steps as you stumble down them. _Liv's mom died falling down subway steps._

Then again, that doesn't seem like a bad way to go… would that be suicide? Could you still get a spot in Heaven, a spot right next to Olivia? Your feet hit the platform floor before you can decide one way or the other.

The train is already waiting. It's almost empty at this time in the night, which allows you to collapse onto a row of hard, uncomfortable plastic seats. Your heavy eyelids slide shut just as the train begins to move.

You wake up an indeterminable amount of time later just as the train car comes to a stop. It's the end of the line, you've missed your stop.

You nearly trip on the way up the steps. They're wet and slippery and as soon as you get to the top, cold, misty rain seeps through your jacket into your skin.

You're thirty blocks away from your apartment. The rain drips down your forehead and over your eyes as you step off the curb and cross the street.

Maybe you shouldn't have had those last couple of shots... each step is harder to take than the last. You collapse onto the first bench you see, just for a moment. You're just gonna sit for a moment, then you'll keep going.

/

"Hey. Get up."

Someone's shaking you. Your head is splitting open... Jesus Christ, how much did you drink last night?

"Come on. Get moving or I'm gonna have to bring you in."

Your eyes pop open. A kid dressed in his blues stands in front of you, looking stiff and a little uncomfortable.

"I'm goin'," you rasp, sitting up slowly. The world spins as you drop your chin to your chest. "Fuck."

You don't go home- you can't go back to that empty apartment this morning. Instead, you find yourself heading towards the 1-6. You haven't been there since the accident and you're technically still on leave, but you can't think of anywhere else to go.

By the time you reach the precinct, it's almost six o'clock in the morning and there's barely a soul in the place. Your suit is completely soaked though and you're shivering as you slowly climb the stairs to the cribs. Halfway up, you hear your name. "Elliot."

You nearly fall down the stairs as you turn. The captain stands on the squad room floor, hand shoved deeply in the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised with concern. "What are you doing here?"

Your eyes drift down to your wet, ratty suit. "Getting changed."

Cragen purses his lips and nods. "I want to see you in my office when you're done."

There are goosebumps on your skin. Your hands shake as you pull at the knot of your tie. As soon as you get your shirt off, you grab a towel and head for the showers.

The hot water relaxes your aching muscles and warms your cold, clammy skin. You close your eyes and hold your face under the spray, washing the cold rainwater away, soothing the headache that drums at the front of your skull.

A hot shower and a clean suit... Thank God for small favors.

Cragen is waiting for you behind is desk when you step into his office. He looks you over for a long moment, holding his pen between both hands, and gestures the seat across from him. "Sit."

You sit.

"You need a shave," he says gently. Your hand runs lightly over your cheeks like you hadn't noticed it upstairs in the cribs... but you know. The stubble is quickly turning into a messy beard and you've needed a haircut for over a week now but how can you care about that when half of you is buried in the ground? She'll never have a haircut again... she'll never carefully apply a layer of eyeshadow or mascara... she'll never spritz that intoxicating perfume onto her long, beautiful neck. You always wanted to run your lips along that neck... but you never got to do that... you'll never get to.

"Elliot?"

"Yeah," you whisper. Your eyes are suddenly prickling with tears. When did that happen?

"I asked you where you were last night."

You can't lie to him, but you can't tell the truth, either. "I came here to do some work."

As soon as you get to your feet, the captain does as well and before you can make it to the door, he's got his hand on your shoulder. "How much did you drink last night?"

You shrug. The captain sighs. "Go home, Elliot. You've got plenty of time built up, just worry about taking care of yourself."

"I'm fine," you protest weakly.

"Elliot." The captain stands and rounds the desk. He leans against it, eyes boring holes into you as you stare at your scarred knuckles as you grip the doorknob. "You came in looking like you slept in a gutter."

"I'll be alright. Just let me work."

"That's bull and we both know it," Cragen says. "You need some time. I don't want to suspend you so you'll get it, but I will if I have to."

You suddenly can't control your breath. You've got to go home again... You've got to stare at a wall and think about what happened... You can't.

"Cap'n…"

The word dies in your throat. Deep down, you know that you won't be able to start to work again now, or even soon. You can't sit across from her empty desk and focus when you know you'll never work a case with your partner again. You can't focus on cases when you feel like your heart has been shattered.

Cragen sighs. "Go upstairs. Get some rest."

It's better than going to your apartment. That's the mantra you repeat to yourself over and over as you climb the steps back up to the cribs. The thin mattress feels like heaven compared to the train seats and the park bench. You slip off your shoes. They clatter to the floor and your eyes close.

/

You can see the spot where it happened.

The bark of the tree that you rest against scrapes against your back. The grass underneath you is damp. Your eyes focus on that intersection… completely uneventful. The lines of traffic start, stop, start again without incident, without metal smashing against metal and partners holding each other as they bleed.

Why couldn't your pass through that intersection on this day instead?

Why did you have to lose her on the same day you finally realized how amazing it felt to have her lips on yours?

"I'm sorry, 'Livia," you whisper, staring up at the sky. "Sorry it took so long to tell you how I really feel about you. And for not paying more attention in that car." Tears roll down your cheeks. "I-I always tried to protect you."

Your eyes fall to the cold metal barrel of the pistol that rests in both of your palms. It's fully loaded, waiting, just waiting for somebody to pull the trigger. This isn't your service weapon- you haven't had that one since the accident. Cragen knew better than to let you keep it during this time. He didn't know that you had this one.

It's a six shot. Revolver. You bought it a few years ago as a backup, just in case. Looks like you made a good call. You swing out the cylinder and stare at the shining metal of the six rounds you've loaded.

That beautiful _clickclickclick_ hits your ears as you spin the cylinder and swing it back into place. Even as a kid, you always enjoyed that sound. Sounds like power. Sounds like taking control. You've never felt more powerless or less in control than you have in these past couple of weeks.

Until now. Now you're taking it back.

You flinch as the end of the barrel presses against the sensitive skin under your chin. You can't do this anymore- living without her. She'll hate you for this. If she was standing here, she'd try to knock the gun out of your hands and then slap you silly. She'd yell at you about your kids, about throwing your life away…

Your eyes slide shut one final time. She's sitting next to you again. Her beautiful locks flow gently in the breeze, her bronze skin is warm and soft, the smile that lights up her face makes you want to break down and cry. And her eyes hold every ounce of love for you as yours do for her.

Your heart hurts as she disappears. You take in a choking breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel tears prickle the backs of your eyelids. _Pull the trigger. It'll all be over._

"I'm sorry, Liv," you whisper as your index finger slowly begins its final movement.

Your finger squeezes the trigger. You wait for the crack, the pain, the all-encompassing blackness.

But all's you hear is a click.

The gun jammed. You know it immediately, but for a long few seconds after that, you refuse to believe it. You've never had a gun jam on you in your life when you needed to use it.

You bring your knees to your chest and fold your arms over them. Bile rises in your throat and the tears are blinding. _How could you do this, Elliot?_ She'd slap the shit out of you. She'd take your gun from you. She'd cry, too.

It would only take two minutes to unjam the gun. You can do it- you've done it many times before. But you don't. Your right hand clutches the useless piece of metal as you struggle to push air through your lungs. There goes the power. There goes the control. You're right back where you were- powerless, alone... and cold. Holding her in your arms for those few moments had kept you so incredibly warm…

It's too quiet around you. Too, too quiet. Before you know what you're doing, you've got your cellphone pressed to your ear.

"Elliot?"

"Cap'n," you rasp. More tears stream down your face as you draw in a sharp breath. Your throat burns with sobs.

"Where are you?"

"Central Park."

"I'm coming."

The phone lands on the grass with a plop and your head falls into your arms. The jammed gun is still clutched in your grip, taunting you. It could have been over. This pain could have ended.

 _I love you, Elliot._

Your head falls into your arms and you cry.

"Elliot." You raise your head, tears blinding your vision as you stare up at your captain. He sits down next to you slowly, silently. Your fist tightens around the grip of your gun as the pain in your chest amplifies. It hurts… it hurts so damn bad and you just want it to end. You couldn't even end it with a bullet.

"I'm sorry. I-I pulled the trigger. I'm sorry, I-I…" The words are tripping over themselves as they expel from your chest, mixing with the sobs that you can't hold in. "The gun jammed. It jammed. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Your ramblings degrade completely into more sobs. You can't take this anymore. You can't take it, but you can't end it. You're stuck in this hell on earth and nothing can manage to take the pain away.

Cragen's hand sets down on your shoulder and squeezes. Finally, your hand twitches around your gun- you've almost forgotten you still have it.

Your arms unfold. You're not sure why, but you find yourself holding the gun out to your captain, who takes it and slips it into his jacket. He pats you gently on the back. "C'mon, son. Let's get you out of here."

He takes you to his place. You think about protesting, telling him to take you the hell home so you can finish off the bottle of whiskey in your cupboard, but for some reason, you don't. You sit in the passenger seat of his car, follow him up the front steps to his place and allow him to guide you through the kitchen.

"You should get some rest," he says. He knows you've been drinking far too much and sleeping far too little. There have been permanent bags under your eyes since that day.

He guides you down the hall to the spare bedroom and opens the door.

"Sleep."

You don't know why you comply with his request as the door closes. Maybe it's because you know that you're slowly killing yourself with your behavior lately. Maybe it's just because your eyelids feel like led and that bed looks far too comfortable not to lay down in. Either way, you feel yourself drifting off almost immediately after sinking into the sheets.

/

You wake up near the crack of dawn the next morning and make your way down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"Morning," Cragen says as soon as you enter it. He has a newspaper in one hand and he slides a cup of coffee across the table towards you with the other. You sit down, sip at the hot liquid and set it back down, eyes focused on the grains of the table.

The two of you sit silently for several long minutes. You sip at your coffee slowly.

"When Marge died, there was just about nothing I wanted to do more than pick up a bottle again," Don says finally. Your eyes flicker upwards. The paper in front of him is forgotten and the wrinkles hang loosely around his cheeks as he frowns deeply. "Every time I came home to this empty place, I'd walk through the door, remember she's gone, and want to walk right back out again."

"I-I… I love her," you whisper. Just saying it makes your chest hurt.

"I know," Don says. "She loved you, too. Which is why we both know that she'd want you to take care of yourself."

"I know. I need to stop drinking. Start sleeping again. For her, because it's what she would have wanted." You shake your head. Your breath hitches with a sob that you refuse to let go. "I can't."

Cragen sets a business card down in front of you. "You can. Call her, she can help."

You take one look at the card and scoff. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not. If you keep going on like this, you're going to end up killing yourself." Cragen's eyes soften. "And there are still people in this world that need you."

 _Maureen. Kathleen. Dickie. Elizabeth._

He's right.

Slowly, your hand slides over the table and closes around the card.

/

"Hey, Liv," you whisper. Your fingers trail over the indents that make up the letters of her name and you sigh shakily. You close your eyes for a long moment, tears prickling the backs of your eyelids. "I gotta tell you something." You take a deep breath. "I tried to end it." _She'd slap the shit out of you. She'd yell about your kids._

"I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry, I... I didn't know what else to do. I feel like there's a hole in my chest, Olivia. I can't keep living like this." _She'd call you out for being so damn selfish. She'd slap the gun out of your hand. She'd do anything to stop you._ "Y-you _did_ stop me, didn't you?"

The feeling of the cold metal bites into the skin under your chin once again. You're sitting against that tree, chest aching, desperate to just surrender, to stop feeling this knife in your heart. When that gun clicked and you had to open your eyes… "I know you did. I know what you'd do if you saw me that night. I'm..." Your voice cracks and your throat tightens unbearably for a moment. "I'm sorry, 'Livia. I-I wish you were here to slap some sense into me, but…"

She'll never be here with you again. You swallow the lump in your throat and sigh. "I promise I'll try to do better. Don gave me the name of a shrink to call... I fuckin' hate shrinks. But maybe she'll be able to help. I know that's what you would have wanted. I… I'll try to do better, Liv. I'll try."

Your body is filled with so much fatigue that you can barely stand up. You just want to sleep… God, you just want to close your eyes and not open them again. _But you can't._ Not yet… you're not done here on Earth yet, Liv's not gonna let you slip away.

"I love you," you whisper, setting your hand down on the top of the stone. Your head descends on it and you press a single kiss to the cold, rough granite, your lips instantly remembering her warm, chapped mouth, tinted with blood. Why did it take so long for you to feel her lips on yours? "I'll be back soon."

/

"How're you doing?" The captain's voice is gentle- he's still treating you like glass. You don't blame him, you still feel like you're going to shatter sometimes.

"Alright," you answer. It's been two months since he found you sitting against that tree with your jammed gun. You've been seeing the shrink he recommended twice a week. You work out every day, you visit the cemetery once a week because it hurts to go any more than that. You buy flowers- the kind you think she'd like, that you imagine bringing to her doorstep on the many dates you planned for them before she was torn away from you. And when you stand in front of her grave, you tell her about your day, your week, how the kids are doing in school and how you're doing in therapy. You think she'd be proud of you for the progress you've made.

It still hurts- it's learning to live without part of your soul. You keep breathing, keep up the routine you've so carefully regimented yourself. You'll go back to work soon, just as soon as you can stomach the idea of sitting at a desk across from someone other than her. Life will continue, on the outside at least. You're doing exactly what she'd want and that's as close as you'll ever be to her again.


End file.
